Venomheart

Everything hurt. Venomheart knew kitting was going to be painful, but it was more than her body that was wracked with pain. It was too early. She'd done something wrong, something that made everything go wrong, just as she was taking a walk. But it was too late to change anything. Three kits had been born dead. A fourth had barely been breathing, and within minutes, her lungs gave out and she joined the other three. One was alive, tiny and weak, but alive.

Venomheart had known the pain of losing her littermates, but she'd never imagined how awful it had been for Ivyfang to lose her kits. Venom knew, now, and what a bitter and terribly awful feeling it was. Her tongue had done nothing to rouse the kits awake, and as time went by, their bodies grew colder. Choked sobs forced their way out, yellow eyes staring in a desperate confusion as she tried to figure out what she had done to deserve this suffering. It was her own fault. She'd cursed her kits, initially regretting their existence. What a cruel joke, now, to have her kits taken away just when she'd finally wanted them. Four lives she'd never watch grow. Four lives that would never chase after leaves or quarrel with each other or grow to have families of their own. All of her visions of raising a healthy litter of kits, gone.

It was then that Venomheart renounced StarClan and what little faith she'd inherited from her parents. If they were real, they were not deities she would worship. Only the evil would end such precious lives and force her to endure this pain.

Numb and exhausted and broken in mind and spirit, Venomheart laid limply as her sole survivor nursed, and once finished, forced herself to stand and bury each kit, one by one. The tears that had previously trailed down her cheeks left dried trails, but she would be strong. She wasn't vulnerable. BloodClan couldn't afford for her to be vulnerable. And so, with the deed done and her paws dirty, Venomheart snatched up her daughter by the scruff and worked her way back to the abandoned pet store.

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Venomheart did not choose the nursery, instead climbing the flight of stairs and taking up residence in one of the empty rooms, windowless and with only a few abandoned twoleg things strewn about. One on of the items she would set down the kit and wrap herself around her, unable to muster even a soft purr of comfort. On the way up she caught a glimpse of one of Ivyfang's newest, and for a few moments, her breath caught in her throat and her eyes stared after the kit. Emberblade would not meet his daughter today. Tomorrow, or maybe in a few days, but not today. Not yet. Her body and heart ached. The expression she wore on her face was well-masked, steely and hard. Too bad the tears still left stains on her face.

It was one of the rare days in winter when the sun shone, and not a single cloud dotted the sky. It was warm, and icicles that spiked down from the buildings on BloodClan's territory dripped lazily. Spring fever was high on days like these, and the cats of BloodClan would need to enjoy it before it was gone. No doubt in a few days it would be cold and blustery again.

Venomheart lounged outside of the pavement, laying on her side as her head rested on the pavement. The sun was a comforting presence, warm on her dark fur. Her belly was rounded, and anyone who hadn't already heard the rumors would see that it was obvious that she was pregnant.

Later, perhaps, she would venture to the forest to hunt. Her recent cravings relied on more than just the rats and mice that roamed the streets. For now, though, the councilor was plenty content to just lay around and do nothing.

Venomheart quite like Nightpaw. When her younger siblings had only been kits, Venomheart- an apprentice, at the time- had been jealous, perhaps even fearful of them. They stole away the attention she had worked so hard to get, but it had helped her to learn to work twice as hard. No longer did she fear her siblings. They were precious to her, not as things to control, but as her family. Nightpaw she was closest to, brought together by the bond only sisters could have."Nightpaw?" Venomheart called into the pet store, tail swaying from side to side. "I'd like to talk to you. It'll only take a minute."

Blending in was her specialty. Venomheart perched in the shadows of leaves from a great oak tree, watching and waiting. ThunderClan cats were too comfortable in their territory. That, or Venom had truly just hidden her scent well. A single patrol had passed under her tree earlier in the day, but it had not contained her target. Stubborn and determined as she was, the black molly was prepared to wait all day for Emberblade. Sooner or late he would be nearby.

It was evening but the time she spotted his pelt flashing through the undergrowth, and only after she checked for any companions did she jump down the tree, landing directly before him with a sly grin. "Miss me?"

Life was going remarkably well for Venomheart. BloodClan was growing, as were her allies and path toward becoming leader. Yes, she was feeling bold, up on a high that was only growing. Ghostkit, Nightpaw, and Wolfpaw were training, the first almost the point of really beginning, and she couldn't hold more pride for the young cats.

She prowled down the alleys as if she owned them. She did, to be fair, and her claws were already unsheathed to fight anyone who said otherwise. The alleys might look to be trash-ridden and useless, but Venomheart was proud of them nonetheless. Kittypets would scoff, no doubt, but rogues new the importance.

Time passed, thoughts wandered, and soon Venomheart found herself outside of BloodClan's borders. The black molly continued on her walk, not bothering to run back to the safety of her territory. Rounding a corner, Venom found herself a mere few fox-lengths from another cat. She froze, surprised for just a moment before she recomposed herself and placed four paws firmly on the ground. There was something in the scent of this cat that seemed familiar, but it was too faint to make out. "Who're you?" she growled gruffly, ears flicking back.